About Me

My photo
Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
TO POST A COMMENT: Click on any "orange-colored" post title and scroll to the bottom.

Friday, April 13, 2012

waited to exhale

can you hold your breath for a week?

i can hold mine for 4 days.

i realized i hadn't been breathing when my cell rang. i looked down, saw a number more familiar than my own, and gasped.


there's nothing more entertaining than the highway histrionics navigated during the california rains; except when you are driving in a bluetoothless, ghettowagon.

so you pull over, hit your hazards and wish you could hit your knees.

"your mmf (cell cept) trough level is 3.1. the range is 2-4, which means dr. p. is comfortable lowering your myfortic. your new dose is 540 mg in the morning and 360 mg at night. dr. p. doesn't feel the need for weekly blood labs. we'll see you in 6 months."


suddenly, the pounding rain is silent. the wipers are still. and you glimpse a ray of light.

the four month battle, fought with fingertipped fists turned yellow with tenacity tight, has been won.

and you wonder if this is the same natural high whitney felt when she scraped the sky with goosebumping, glorious efforts; before she ego-spun and ego-spooned herself to death...


you think about you, with the common cold. oh, and you, with the butt knee. and you, with the one-day hospital stay, and how i feel bad for you. not because of your minor maladies...

[oooh, i really want to feel badly for you, but, oooh, i really don't.]

...but because you will never know this feeling.

of armwrestling an institution to the ground; of raging against the machine, when you are more machine than man. of wrangling side effects to cry "uncle"; wrangling Them to decree "less IS more". of living a life experimental and feeling for one breath, that your body is wholly yours.

but the beauty of living in the moment is a son of a beast.

because tomorrow i could spike a fever, and my wildly, fluttering flag could float away into the rain; into rejection.

[and the rain poured down.]

so you fist the technological gods who destroyed your satellite radio, and manically flip, flip, flip for that killer jam to missile you through the forces of nature; forces of fate.

"new year's day".

and you let bono hail and wail your triumph all the way home.

to exhale.

No comments:

Post a Comment